Trials of Cynthia Green

Trials of Cynthia Greenfield © 2010 by SheaRyhai

If you are reading this, I can only hope it is because I have won my freedom. If not, than you must be a prisoner like me.

I don’t know if I can make it. If I will pass these tests. I have been close to death far too many times… I don’t even feel like myself anymore. It’s as if I’m becoming on of them - something not human. A fairy…

Caged Bird

Charity is a two edged sword. To those who give, it’s an act of great kindness, a demonstration of good will. But to those who receive, it is a constant reminder of what we lack. No debt weighs more heavily, than on he who can not repay.

My existence is clouded by this bitter-sweet reality. I was given up as a child, left abandoned in a shopping cart at the local grocery store. In aisle 7 to be precise, the baking aisle. Perhaps my father or mother thought that someone who could cook would be a better parent for me. Perhaps they thought they were being “kind”, or doing “what was best for everyone”.

There was nothing kind about the orphanage. I only learned to hide my angry at unfair cruelty, and lock away my tears. Our clothes were donated, our food an act of charity rationed out to keep us from starving, our education a means of control. We prayed every day for families. For someone to show us the meaning of the words: joy, peace, and love. We didn’t know how dangerous foster parents could be.

I had passed through three families before the Greenfields officially adopted me. Another act of ‘Charity’ that would forever change my life.

“They’re a well off couple,” the matron informed me with a sniff, finishing up my paper work. “Mr. Greenfield was a prominent professor at Backards before he decided to return to researching at archeological digs. He has a wife and daughter around your age. The child’s name is Celeste.”

How strange, I thought, sitting in the stiff wood chair with my single half empty suite case beside me. Why would they want another child, and one with such similar names?

Mr. Greenfield was the only one who came to pick me up. He shook hands with my jailor, and carried my bag to the car. The drive to my new home was an uncomfortable one. Mr. Greenfield inquired about my schooling, and I answered as thoroughly as I could. Through what little conversation we shared, I came to realize I had been picked for my grades, which were the highest at the orphanage.

It did little to endear me too this stranger.

Mrs. Greenfield, who insisted I call her Annabell, greeted me with Celeste at the front door. They were civil enough during the first week. Mr. Greenfield saw to it that my room was prepared, and my transfer to Celeste’s school arranged. Annabell took me shopping for more suitable clothes than the two outfits I had brought from the orphanage. Afterwards, Celeste took me for a tour of the house and the grounds.

It was in the garden, which I was quite taken by, that Celeste dashed my rising hopes.

“You’re only here because your smart and Father wants me to improve my grades,” she explained bluntly, sitting on the stone bench beside the pond of gold fish I had been studying. I swallowed back an angry retort, and glanced her way. The certainty in her baby blue eyes shut the door of my cage once more.

Our names were the only similarity we shared in the end. Celeste was beautiful and vain, with golden hair and an angelic smile I learned to hate. I became her shadow at school and at home. Improving her grades meant doing her homework, and helping her cheat on tests. All the while she made fun of my short black hair and boyish looks. Her friends went along with the “jokes” and I found myself more alienated at school than I had been at the orphanage.

Mr. Greenfield was away frequently and for long periods of time with his archeology team. My only moments of solace were during the weeks he came home to rest. As always he would talk about his research, and inquire about my studies. I don’t think he knew how else to speak with me.

“Are you happy with us, Cynthia?” he would ask every time before he left again. I had long weighed out the pros of a good school, good meals, decent clothes, and my own room; against Celeste’s childish acts of cruelty, and Annabell’s indifference.

“I shall always be grateful to you, Sir,” was the answer I always gave.

It was before his trip to Africa that he changed our routine.

“You’ve made me very proud, Cynthia. Not only is Celeste doing well, but you are at the top of your class,” he told me as we watched the valet pack his trunk into the waiting cab.

“Thank you, Sir,” I replied, feeling an unfamiliar tingle rise up in my chest.

“I’ve put aside enough funds to send you to any college you would like,” he informed me casually. “When I return, I hope we can talk about your plans for the future.”

Staring at him wide eyed, I remember that tingle grow into an overwhelming emotion that made my eyes burn, and my throat hoarse.

“T-thank you - Sir” I managed, hardly daring to believe my ears. My impressive grades at school were a result of my own pride, my determination to be better then others in the one way I could.

“You don’t have to keep calling me ‘Sir’ you know,” he chuckled, looking pleased none the less. “You can call me Henry or even - Father?”

Unable to speak, I nodded, staring at the melting snow below my feet.

Henry patted my head, as was his custom before leaving. “We’ll talk more when I get back.”

I never did tell him the words burning inside my chest. I never did call him “Father” or say “I love you”. And I came to regret it.

Henry contracted malaria and died before returning home to America.

I struggled with that strange emotion for days after I learned the news. I had held it back out of fear, and now, I wished more than anything I had taken that chance.

It rained at the funeral. Celeste and Annabell remained in the car, not wanting to be drenched. The gathering was small, Annabell hadn’t sent out any notification in order to avoid the obligation of setting up meals for any well wishers. Only Henry’s archeological comrades showed up, since they had arranged for the body to be shipped back.

I stood alone by the closed casket as the priest spoke words of parting grace.

“Goodbye, Henry,” I whispered when he was done.

Goodbye, to the man, who was almost my father…

I threw a rose onto the casket, and with it my last hopes.

Within less than a month I learned we were in trouble. Annabell had spent most of Henry’s savings on clothes, parties, and gifts for Celeste and her friends. There were loans to be paid off and funeral expenses to cover as well. She ranted on about it for weeks, apparently Henry’s will had mandated that two hundred grand go towards the archeological company he worked for, the rest to his wife and two daughters. In order for Annabell and Celest to continue living comfortably, we were forced to sell our house in the city, and move to the country to live with Annabell’s brother.

I found the country side liberating. Acres of woods and fields allowed me to get lost for hours, and escape the other Greenfield women woe’s about money.

But fate was not done taking from me.

“Dear Henry was wise enough to put aside money for college,” Annabell brought up suddenly over dinner. I nearly chocked on the potato soup, inwardly dreading what I knew was coming. “Of course there is only enough for one of you.”

Anger reared its ugly head, but I could only stare at my trembling hand, and the soup falling from the spoon back into the bowl. They knew the money was meant for me, Henry had written a letter on his death bed, pleading that Annabell fulfill his promise to me. I had secretly overheard Annabell whispering about it to Celeste just day’s ago. No doubt this had sent her hunting for that little nest of money.

“Of course college is the best way for Celeste to meet a suitable husband,” Annabell reasoned, not raising her eyes from the soup she was stirring. - This is it, I resolved, They have taken the one meaningful gift Henry could give me. - “And when that happens, I’m sure an adequate husband can be found for you as well Cynthia.”

There was no reason for me to stay anymore. I did not love them, and they had more than made my life here miserable enough without this insult.

“I can’t be expected to look after you forever, now that Henry is gone,” Annabell continued, raising her handkerchief to her dry eyes.

“No, of course not,” I returned icily. “Now that Henry is dead all your obligations to me are dead as well.”

“Child-” Annabell gasped, her face flush with anger. Celeste dropped her gaze, but I was beyond caring if she felt even the slightest bit guilty.

“College tuition is wasted on Celeste. The only reason she managed to graduate is because of me. But I shouldn’t expect any better from the woman who wasted all of Henry’s earnings.”

With those parting words of built up rage, I fled the house, wishing more than anything I had wings - so I could fly away.